You and a friend hit backstage passes at an FOB concert in Madison WI, and you knock a guy out, literally. this one's kinda weird, abstract, but what's not to like? it's about FOB.
"WILL YOU GET IT ON, BRENT?" I screamed. He knew that I hated waiting. His voice chuckled.
"Okay, okay, I got tickets to a concert here, you and I can both go." He got me tickets. He got the tickets. I think I love him.
"Brent." I paused. "I LOVE YOU, YOU FREAKING DESERTER!!!" I am now hyperventilating. He laughed again.
"Okay, this is what we're going to do. I'm going to pick you up at..."
"Well, here we are. This dorm is about seventy-five years old..." Brent started to drone, but I cut him off.
"Can we keep the tour to a minimum? I really don't care because I'll never be good enough to get a scholarship to UW Madison, Brent." He gave me a head shake and smiled.
"Okeee then. Let's just drop off your stuff and get to the center."
"Why so early?" we had just arrived about ten minutes ago.
"Yeah, but we want to use our backstage passes before and after the concert, right? Or maybe you just don't want to go backstage..." his grin widened. I just stood there like a gaping idiot until I slapped him. Hard. Across the face. Then he stared at me in fascination, not wanting to believe that he got bitch-slapped.
"D-did, you, just-"
"Yes, yes I did, and you'd better not be keeping any more crap from me that's important like that. Do we have an understanding?" He nodded and failed to suppress a grin. He hailed a taxi that took us to the arena, and flashed our passes at the security guard, who then stepped aside, but gave us a weird look for being about four hours early.
"We just want to get a look around. You're looking at the next Celtic Rock band," Brent told him, which made the guard, whom his ID tag identified as 'Carl', frown at us. Like we were crazy or something.
"The only Celtic Rock band, actually," I corrected. 'Carl' shook his head at us and turned around to fend off the other early feeders. "Fall Out Boy, Fall Out Boy..." I had started chanting, and Brent placed his large hand on my head to silence me-he had about two feet on my five-foot-three average frame. Then up ahead I caught a glimpse of a trucker's cap and red hair poking out from under it. No, no, no, I am now DEFINITELY hyperventilating. Brent gave me a funny look and caught me around my waist before I caught up with THE Patrick Stump.
"NONONONONO BRENT! LET ME GO!!!!!!!!! I NEED TO MEET PATRICK STUMP!! YOU'RE HIS LOOK-ALIKE, YOU SHOULD UNDERSTAND!!!" I was in hysterics and drawing weird looks from Motion City Soundtrack, who I like but had no interest in at the moment.
"Lindsay, I'll bring you back there, but only if you calm down," he spoke to me like I was three or something.
"No, Brent. You are not my brother, and you WILL take me to their room or I WILL bite you." He knew that I weren't kidding; he's seen me draw blood. Brent threw up his hands in defeat, then shoved them in his pockets and led me to the room Patrick disappeared into. I followed, not sure of whether or not we could do this, but Brent had been to more concerts than me (this was my first, actually), and walked through the semi-open door.
In the small room there was the one door I walked through, no windows, and a few beat-up chairs and couch that looked like someone got them from their dead grandmother's basement. In the corner was a cooler full of water and soda, and a few various members of bands scattered among the furniture. All that I picked up on a bit later on, the thing that got my immediate attention was Pete Wentz and Brandon Flower going at it in the middle of the room, shouting and punching each other. While Pete's band mates stared on, no one else from The Killers was in the room, and it didn't seem like anyone was going to stop this fight.
"This is bad," I heard Andy mutter to Joe. Joe nodded and Andy kept on, "I mean, they don't like each other, but I'm not about to get involved in this."
I stare at them and say (rather stupidly), "Then I will." Their faces shot toward me, but I was already making my way through the mess of furniture and people to get to the two. Pete now has a bloody lip, and Brandon has a black eye, but they're kind of in a dead standstill, just circling each other and pulling fakes.
"Oh, come on, this is about as real as wrestling," I comment loudly, and jump Pete to pull his head down so I can drag him away. "You have a show in a few hours, mister, and I won't let you go on stage looking like shit," I scold. Brandon doesn't know what to do, so he tries to swing at me. Not a good idea. "WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! DO YOU WANT YOUR ASS DROPKICKED, 'CAUSE I CAN MANAGE THAT!" I drop Pete's head and spring onto the back of the (now vacant) couch, then leap off and give Brandon a flying kick to the chest, knocking him into the wall behind a metal kitchen chair, which he falls over. While he's still lying on the ground, just barely managing to breathe, I straddle him and stand over his chest, giving him my 'scary face', as Brent so aptly calls it. I lean forward and very carefully put my face very close to his. "Get out," I whispered fiercely. He choked and nodded frantically, just wanting to get out of there. I painfully pushed my foot on his crotch when I stepped over him and moved back slightly, giving him just barely enough space to pass with and scramble out of the room.
"Ah, Lindsay, what did I say?" Brent pulled his 'brotherly' face. "No picking on guys weaker than you." Everyone laughs.
"Don't start," I huffed. Then I heard quite the familiar voice.
"Lindsay? Like, oh. My. God, girl, is that yoouu!!" It was Justin, bisexual for all of Wisconsin.
"Like, oh my god, it soo is!" I fling my hands and play along. Justin was an awesome guy, and we have this Ã¼ber-gay thing going, where when one of us sees the other, we act like stereotypical gay guys. It's really funny.
"Don't think that I didn't see what you just did, nuh-uh! You so did not just kick Brandon Flower's ass, like, totally hardcore." He said it in the tone of scandalous gossip. I nodded, quite proud of myself. "So, what are you doing here?" he handed me his tall Vanilla Latte and I took a sip.
"I'm seeing a Fall Out Boy concert, thanks to my friend Brent, whom I told you could pass for Patrick Stump," I nod at Brent then at Patrick himself. "But, the only difference is that Patrick is a Sex God and Brent is a single virgin." I stick my tongue out at Brent, who sarcastically gives me a noogie. Pete, Joe, and Andy laugh while Patrick turns several shades of violent red. I thought of something suddenly.
"Justin? Because I love you?" and he knew that that was my way of giving warning of an odd favor. He looked at you and nodded slowly. I dug into my pockets and drew out a crumpled 10 dollar bill, and threw it at him. "Would you run to the 24 hour mall next door and get me a tall iced mocha with the works from Starbucks and a giant box of Ego's chocolate chip waffles?"